Nicknames
by Annabeth Patelle
Summary: Shawn/Lassiter. Lassiter has a frightful meeting with his almost-forgotten past.


They had a particularily bad case that day; A girl had been raped and beaten at a high school campus. Lassiter seemed unnaturally sad, maybe even angsty, Shawn thought. Indeed, as Shawn looked at Lassiter, who was sitting on the steps of the school, looking down at his palms, he noticed that the detective was tearing up, for some strange reason. Shawn walked over and stood next to him, not even trying to be his usual amusing self. Instead, he sat down after a moment, merely looking at the officer. After a moment, Lassiter looked back, through cloudy, though appreciative, eyes. Slowly, a few barely whispered words escaped his lips. "What are you doing, Spencer?"

Shawn contemplated the question before answering. He was tempted to make a sarcastic comment, but instead said, "Listening to you, if you want to talk."

"Don't you want to make some wise-ass comment about me or something?"

"Not right now..." Shawn seemed indecisive about his next choice of wording, "Not with you, Carlton." Lassiter's brow furrowed, and he looked at Shawn in a strange way, curious, half-appalled. Then, the words seemed to spill out of him. "The case. I saw one just like it, a long while ago. One of my friends, in high school, was raped, then beaten with a crowbar. I used to cry myself to sleep on those nights. It was stupid and pathetic to cry over her like that, but at least I was so exhausted at night that occasionally, the nightmares didn't come. I... She was like a sister to me; my best friend!" Lassiter shook the memory out of his head and stood up, looking at Shawn with still-watery eyes. Smiling a bit, he said, "Now go make fun of something, Spencer. It can't be good for you to take this much seriousness." A grin played at the corners of his lips as Shawn smiled back at him.

Throughout the day, Shawn kept an eye on the detective. Lassiter looked fine, but Shawn knew better. Which was why, after work, Shawn showed up at Lassiter's doorstep. Opening the door, Carlton seemed to be a bit in shock. Shawn, seizing the moment as he did best, stepped in and greeted the other man. Carlton, curious as to why Shawn had just randomly appeared at his doorstep, showed the younger man into his living room, and went to fix him some tea. From the couch, Shawn's voice carried to the kitchen, and Lassiter heard him say, "So, how's life treating you, Carlton?" Lassiter didn't seem to notice the usage of his first name as he gave Shawn the mug. Sitting down, he sighed.

"The... the friend I told you about today, Spencer... that was... a lie, really. I'm sorry. I was talking about-" Shawn cut him off with a finger to his lips. "I know it was you that you were talking about. I've seen the way you flinch at serial rapists' files. It's alright, though. You're safe, Carlton. I'll keep you safe." Shawn wrapped his arms around the surprisingly soft and warm Lassiter. Even more surprisingly, Lassiter hugged him back, leaning in and placing his head on the other's shoulder. Shawn turned and kissed the detective's forehead, whispering, "It's okay. You're mine now, Lassie. And you know you'll be safe, because... because I love you." Shawn was never much for keeping secrets, and this felt good to let out. Carlton turned his head, meeting the psychic's eyes. "You don't know how much I believe that, Shawn." The words felt sweeter than anything to Shawn, who closed his eyes, only to be jolted awake by a gentle, careful kiss being placed on his lips. Their noses bumped together, and they laughed, the sound ringing throughout the apartment.

Waking up the next morning, Shawn realized that they were still on the couch, Lassiter curled up into a ball, Shawn blanketing him, hugging him tight. Whispering into Carlton's ear, Shawn gently said, "Wake up, Lassie."

And somehow, the nickname didn't seem to annoy Lassiter as much as it honestly should have.

Epilogue of sorts (since I really like the last line up there):

At work that day, no one seemed to notice that, wherever Lassiter went, Shawn went, too. Or how Carlton didn't seem to mind how Shawn called him 'Lassie'. The best thing that they didn't notice, though, was how, when they walked together, their hands seemed to, of their own will, thread together, fingers interlacing in such a way that neither would ever forget the feeling of the other's hand. For they were, irreversibly and irrevocably, in love, as much as either tried to pretend it wasn't.


End file.
